terminus
by team effort
Summary: the benatar arrives on earth not unscathed. —rocket, nebula. post iw.


It took roughly two days for the _Benatar_ to arrive at the Avengers Facility. By the time it'd been close enough to spot from the air, seemingly all intact - he breathed a private sigh of relief that he wouldn't be compelled to bust his ass patching her up - their own trackers had picked it up already, and he waited, peering out at the commotion from his seat in the back of the room. Wondering, after confirming with Rogers and the others that it was their ship, if he was ready to walk out and face it.

Natasha - he was picking up names more readily than he cared to - had bought him several cases of Earth beer. His request. She'd only refused with the tiniest bit of hesitation, Rogers too, before caving in and giving him what he wanted. Alcohol was alcohol, no matter the planet, and whatever a Bud-Weiser was, it sure did its job. He had spent the tail end of the first day in a blur between waking and dreaming, only remembering breaking a chair and then Thor gently but firmly taking him to a spare room and making sure he slept for real. When he woke, Thor was sitting on the side of his bed, smiling in a way that might have been kind, but this time - he could see it didn't fully reach.

So he slept again, and dreamed. There was ash slipping through his hands, and in his dream, he could hear _him_ saying, "Dad-?" in that terrified voice, and when he woke -

His hands were empty, and something had breached the airspace above their headquarters.

* * *

The sun - so damn bright, it felt, after jumping around from job to job across space for years - felt pleasantly warm against his fur as they strode out onto the building's landing pad. The others were trying to be cautious, weapons ready in case the ship wasn't carrying what he thought it was. Thor stood next to him, axe clenched in a white-knuckled grip; he was trying not to look at the gnarled length of wood that made up the handle, thinking of what he'd dreamt, when the doors to the _Benatar_ hissed open and two people stepped out.

One of them, a man, he'd never seen before, but given how Rogers' shoulders had slumped and how Natasha had lowered her staff, he must've been with them. The man was grimacing, one arm set in a sling, limping his way off the ramp with the help of a blue-skinned woman, her own face blank as they emerged into the sunlight. Before Thor could protest, he was darting around their legs and running toward Nebula, who carefully passed the man to Rogers before looking down at him.

"Where's the rest of the team?" he asked. He peered past her, scanning the dark inside the ship for Gamora, or Mantis, or Drax, or even Quill. Nebula, stony as always, didn't reply.

He nudged her. "Hey, I know we didn't really part on the best terms, but you're really gonna hold it against me now? You have any idea what kinda shitshow we've been through? These guys - " he jabbed a finger at Thor " - ain't gonna hurt ya or your sister. If she's injured, I'm sure they've got the space for a few more - "

"She's not hurt."

"Then - "

"None of them..." Nebula's gritted her teeth and looked away. "None of them made it."

There was silence.

Things seemed to slow as he rushed past her, not listening to what anyone was saying, into the main hold and started to shout their names. It was empty. Every corridor he ran through, every room - deserted.

He reached the cockpit, panting, and saw their seats waiting, the dust clinging vaguely to some trick of the light. He could imagine Quill making some jab about him being out of shape, could hear Gamora firmly rebuffing the both of them to knock it out, Drax laughing maniacally and Mantis, after an uncertain pause, following suit.

He found Quill's music player lying on the control panel and picked it up, holding it for a long moment. Eventually, Quill would come back and snap at him to keep his dirty paws off of his stuff. That's what should've happened.

There should've been music playing, the way Quill liked.

"Rabbit?"

Thor looked concerned as he entered the cockpit, Nebula accompanying him at a cautious distance. He felt so tired all of a sudden. When had it come to this? Even when they'd barely escaped by the skin of their teeth, they'd still managed to _do it_. Oh, he and Quill could shittalk each other 'til they were both red in the face, but when it came down to the real stuff, Quill had never failed to pull them all together and leave their enemies choking on their dust. Maybe there'd been something about the guy that they could all believe in. Even he could've set his cynicism aside and held out, for a little while, that it would be okay when things settled.

Good riddance.

"We couldn't stop him," said Nebula. There was no anger in her voice. Just the exhausted truth of a survivor.

"Yeah." He laughed bitterly, realizing he was one of them now too. "It was one hell of a day."


End file.
